


all you really have.

by ahomine



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dave, Humanstuck, I ALSO DON'T KNOW IF THIS SHOULD BE A JOHNDAVE FIC OR A DAVEKAT FIC SO................, M/M, Mute Dave, Other, tAGS WILL BE ADDED AS STORY GOES ALONG
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahomine/pseuds/ahomine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your full name is David Elizabeth Strider. You are in the hospital for reasons unknown. Your clothes are shitty due to blood that used to be on it and holes that littered it. You can't talk and you don't know why. You still have no idea who Bro is, but you can’t call him and you can’t bring yourself to delete his number. Someone named John is picking you up, and you don’t know who he is either. You have a shitty katana, a wallet, your clothes, your phone, and your shades.</p><div class="center">
  <p>And that’s all you really have.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Painted Red to Fit Right In

**Author's Note:**

> decided to take my hand at mute!amnesiac!dave so here this is. i also don't know whether or not this should be a johndave fic, or a davekat fic. abubububu. also, for my other homestuck story, i hAD ACTUALLY FINISHED WRITING THE WHOLE CHAPTER but now it's missing and i can't find it... i probably left it in school omg. but yeah, i now have no motivation to write another rewrite of it, and this idea popped into my head!! i'll probably make another chapter sooner or later, but yeah, hopefully this will tide you guys over? more tags will be added as needed sdlfsdf ;w; enJOY! also this formatting layout for this website sucks really badly sighs

You aren't exactly sure what day it is when you wake up, and you're not exactly sure what time it is either. You try to move your head to look for a window, but that proves to be virtually impossible, since you find it hard to lift it up. Instead, you opt for turning your head back and forth. You barely managed a glimpse of a window and it appeared to be nighttime. How far into nighttime, you do not know. What you do know, however, judging by the sound of the heart monitor monitoring your slow heartbeats, that you are in a hospital room. You are also most likely hooked up to an IV. You don't really know how you know this, considering you were sure that you've never been in a hospital your entire life, but something inside of you recognizes this place.

You run your tongue over your dry, cracked lips, trying to remember how you ended up in the hospital. Unfortunately, you don't remember anything that could have led you to the hospital. You're also not sure who you are, and that part freaks you out a little. 

Just a little.

The door creaked open, and you try to turn your head to see who the visitor was. As the person neared into view, you realize that it was a nurse. Her fiery red hair was tied up into a bun underneath her nurse's cap, and she had a tanned complexion that went surprisingly well with her hair. She was carrying a clipboard and was currently checking off things on there. It could have possibly been about your condition. After she was done with that, she set her clipboard on the table beside your bed, and smiled at you.

She got closer to you and helped you get into a sitting position, adjusting the pillow behind you. You open your mouth to speak but no words come out and you wonder why. Was it because your vocal chords haven't been used for a while (or so you assume)? You looked at her expectantly in hopes that she'll explain why you weren't able to talk, but she only sends you an apprehensive smile. 

"So, David," she speaks, her voice a little too high pitched for your taste. Or at least, that's what your guts told you. "How are you feeling?" You don't know how she expected you to say how you were feeling when you didn't know why you couldn't talk. She seemed to realize her mistake, and you assume this is the part where she tells you why. "Sorry. I'll get a doctor in to check your condition." Well, at least now you know your name is David.

It doesn't feel right in your mind though.

She smiles at you once again, and exits the room, leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company. 

And to be quite honest, being alone with your thoughts was quite scary.

Who the hell were you? Beside your first name, that was really all you knew about yourself. Why are you in the hospital? What happened? Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you remember anything? What was so dangerous that made you end up in the hospital?

You bite your lip, unsure of what to think of the whole situation. You wonder if you had any belongings with you, like a wallet or something. Tons of people carried wallets, right? At least you could find out other information with your wallet.

Wait, what about school? How old were you, anyway? You most definitely didn’t go to middle school (unless you’re that freakishly tall kid who went through puberty before everyone else), but maybe you belonged in high school or even university. What if you were working already? What was going to happen to your job? Surely you would be pardoned, right? They wouldn’t fire you because you happened to be in the hospital. Hopefully.

You wondered if you had any relatives. It would be hard navigating through life without someone telling you who you were, and you doubt the staff would know anything about you, but the way your body slowly recognized the room, you were sure you’ve been in here multiple times before. What for, you just aren’t sure about.

You resist the urge to scratch a mosquito bite on your shoulder that started to itch. You frown, pleading in your mind for the nurse to hurry back with the doctor so you could get out of here.

Just as you wished, the doctor entered the room along with the nurse from earlier. He carried another clipboard, and you wondered what the contents were. Hopefully, if you were lucky, something would be revealed about you. But as of late, luck is obviously not on your side.

“David, you’re looking well,” he says. For some reason, you want to say, ‘no shit, Sherlock,’ but when you open your mouth, no words come out again. Really, they should do something about this. Instead, you roll your eyes, and he chuckles in amusement. He smiles warmly at you, and something told you that you were on good terms with him. “So, do you remember anything?” he asked.

You don’t know why people keep asking you questions that you can’t answer and you don’t even know why you can’t.

You opted to shake your head in response, shrugging. The doctor pursed his lips, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to introduce myself again, right? Well, I’m Dr. Michael, but you would always call me Doc or something like that.” He pauses for that tidbit to sink in your mind.

“Anyway, I’m usually your doctor when you come in the hospital with a nasty wound after a strife with your older brother. It isn’t often, but you make a lot of impressions on us when you do come. I think your older brother used to patch you up unless it was a serious wound that needed medical attention from a professional.”

Huh. Strifes?

“Your full name is David Elizabeth Strider.”

You crinkle your nose at your middle name. What kind of sick irony was this?

Dr. Michael chuckles at your reaction to your middle name. “You like to be called Dave, however.” Now that sounded right in your head. “You had these things on you when we found you, and we kept them safe for you. Figured you’d want them back after you woke up.”

He hands you a pair of aviators, and you quickly fumble to put them on your face. It felt right, like it belonged there. You didn’t know why it did, since it felt stupid to wear shades inside, but you kept it on anyway, figuring that it didn’t do any harm.

“Those are authentic Ben Stiller shades. I remember you told me about them when you were in the hospital the one time. You’d wear them all the time.”

Ben Stiller. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you don’t think much of it.

Dr. Michael leaned forward to the ground to pull up one of the shittiest katana you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen katanas before) and you wrapped your fingers around the handle. It feels familiar in your hands and you have no doubt you’d be able to wield and use it if the time called for it. You wonder what made you own a katana in the first place, and a shitty one, no doubt.

“Here’s your phone. You never went anywhere without it.” He hands you your iPhone, and you press the home screen and look through the contents. You tap the contact icon and you look at the unfamiliar names. Egbert, Lalonde, Harley, Vantas, Rolal, English, Crocker— and this one strikes a familiarity in you, Bro. You didn’t bother checking the rest of the contacts, only interested in this one for some reason.

You tapped his contact and called it. You didn’t know why you did, since you couldn’t really talk, but you had to do it. There were no rings as the number automatically went to an automated message saying how the phone number was unavailable for use. Why would you keep a number that couldn’t call anyone? Even though you knew that, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete the number, and you weren’t sure why.

“These are your clothes. They were bloody—“ Blood? What? “—when we found them on you, and there were several holes in them too. We got them cleaned and stitched up the best we could though. I’m sure you have more of these shirts at home, however, since it was your favourite shirt, and no matter how many times you stepped in here with it ruined, you always managed to have a new one at your disposal.”

Dr. Michael hands you a shirt that was a baseball tee with red sleeves. A broken record was in the middle of the shirt. It had a carefully stitched mark over the front of it and you ran your finger over it. Some spots of the shirt were stained pink and you assumed that those parts couldn’t be washed out.

 Your pants came next, and they were black skinny jeans so you couldn’t notice the blood stains if you had any on them. Still, there were some areas that were stitched up. What happened to you?

“These are your favourite shoes. I suppose you won’t throw them away, no matter how bad they get.” A pair of red converse was given to you, and they were the rattiest pair of sneakers that you could have saw. Still, if the past you wouldn’t throw them away, you wouldn’t either. “You say it’s cause of irony that you won’t throw them away.”

Irony?

“Course, you used irony in all the wrong ways, not even coming close to the meaning of it, but I guess you took after your brother.”

A wallet was handed to you, and it was worn out like you’ve had the thing since forever. It was some shitty knock off of Doraemon. Your fingers touch the Doraemon lightly, noticing that the colours were beginning to fade.

“Open it,” Dr. Michael says after a long pause. So you do. Inside the wallet, it had several five dollar bills and a single ten. There’s a couple business cards that you think have no relevance to you, and a couple of plastic cards were found in the slots. You pull out your driver’s license, and take a look at it.

There’s a picture of you and you’re not smiling. You had a poker face on instead, and you were wearing those shades of yours. Huh, that doctor wasn’t really kidding when he said you wore them all the time. Your name is listed on the side, along with your age. 19 years old. You just finished high school a year or two ago, you assumed. You’re also 5 foot 8, and that meant you were rather short for your age. Or not. You didn’t have a lot of things to go off on. You weighed 127 pounds, and your blood type was AB. Awesome, you could get blood from anyone. Your license had signs of Texas all over it, so that meant you lived in Texas. That was nice to know.

You slid the card back into the wallet, and notice two pictures jammed side by side in your wallet. One of them was of an older man (way older than you, at least) with a black hat and blond hair, and even crazier shades than you. It looked like he didn’t notice that someone was taking a picture of him because the expression he had on wasn’t fabricated. It was so carefree and… happy.

The next photo was of a male that looked like he was your age with jet black hair and eyes that looked like the sea. He had square glasses that fit rather nicely on his face. He had a bit of an overbite as well, but it fit him, strangely enough. It also looked like he didn’t realize he was on camera because he was caught in the middle of laughing.

Your heart clenched at the unknown identity of these two people.

You shut your wallet, and placed beside you. You ran your fingers through your hair and sighed. This was definitely a lot of take in and yet you had so many questions you couldn’t even voice. This was beginning to irritate you.

“And that’s all of the stuff we found you with. Tomorrow, we’ll discharge you from the hospital after running a couple of tests to make sure you’re okay. I took the liberty of calling John for you. He’ll help you. Be sure to come back if you notice anything strange.” He smiled at you and walked away, the nurse trailing behind him. She flashed a smile at you before shutting the door.

With your belongings beside you, you lower yourself back down onto the bed. You put your shitty katana on the ground so it wouldn’t harm you. Maybe tomorrow all this shit will get sorted out.

Your full name is David Elizabeth Strider. You are in the hospital for reasons unknown. Your clothes are shitty due to blood that used to be on it and holes that littered it. You can't talk, and you don't know why. You still have no idea who Bro is, but you can’t call him and you can’t bring yourself to delete his number. Someone named John is picking you up, and you don’t know who he is either. You have a shitty katana, a wallet, your clothes, your phone, and your shades.

And that’s all you really have.


	2. Well, These Days I'm Fine — No, These Days I Tend to Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **that is one hell of a womanly intuition**

  
**_I'm sorry, brother...  
I'm sorry I let you down._ **   


It is the smell of anesthetic that wakes you up, and for a minute, you think you're blind until you remember that you are still wearing your tinted aviators. It's a miracle that they didn't break while you were sleeping.

"David, good morning."

It is a new nurse that greets you today. She dons the normal nurse attire that is probably the default uniform that they have to wear. You couldn't be sure— you've only seen one other nurse. Her fingers are long and thin, you note, as she wipes down the counter. A lock of her auburn hair falls over her shoulder and you want to do nothing more but brush it back behind her ear. She beats you to it and does it herself.

Well, Dave, the pretty miss is probably waiting for you to reply. Who are you to keep a nice lady waiting?

So you open your mouth again, but nothing comes out. Again. This is beginning to irritate you, if it hasn't already, and you're sure it has. It's also irritating about how no one seems to explain why you are unable to speak.

Instead, when she looks over at you, you dip your head like a gentleman. She smiles at you and it's a smile that you want to burn into your mind.

She's pretty.

"Your friend, ah, John, called earlier. He said as soon as the airplane touches the ground, he'll be here."

You want to say, _Yeah, thanks for lettin' me know. Dude is taking_ forever, _though._ Maybe get a laugh or two out of her. But you can't, and awkward silence fills the room.

"Well, I'll leave you alone, then, David." She gives you another smile as she backs out of the room, and you are alone once again.

The silence is deafening, which is ironic, you guess. You roll over to your side, wanting something — _anything_ — to do. Your phone beckons you from the table. Well, maybe there's wifi in this shitty hospital.

You reach for it with your hand, and you frown when you just barely touch it with your fingertips. Moving closer to the phone, you wrap your fingers around it and press the worn out home button.

Eleven new messages, all from an assortment of people. You guess they finally heard the news of you. There are three messages from Egbert, one message from Lalonde, four from Harley, two are from Vantas, and the last one is from someone named Rolal.

You decide to read Egbert's messages first.

**dude! i just heard from the doctor, i'm gonna go pick you up ok? you're ok, right?**

**ok it cost me a ton of money for this plane ticket, but you're worth it!!!! i'm boarding the plane now so just hang in there! :B**

**we're just about to take off. you're probably sleeping right now, or whatever (i should be too) but tell me everything when i get there! gosh you're so irresponsible :( just kidding, hehe.**

You assume he's John by the way he mentions that he's going to pick you up. having to go on an airplane to see you— where exactly does he live? You can't help but smile to yourself, however. For some reason, you find his text messages endearing. Your fingers slid over the keys easily as you type your reply. Obviously, your fingers remember how your phone works.

**chill dude im fine  
 **well not exactly fine  
 **i can breathe and see fine though and all my limbs seem to be accounted for  
 **so... i guess fine is the word i want to use  
******** **you got a shitload of questions to answer when you get back though**

You move on to Lalonde's message.

**I have heard of your being in the hospital. That is quite a shame to hear, and I can only wonder how you ended up there this time. (John had insisted that it was "more bad than normal.") I wish for your wellbeing.**

**uh thanks i guess**

A reply is received almost instantaneously.

**Are you alright? You seem quite off.**

**what do you mean**

**Well, considering you have failed to converse with me about your apple juice, or your "aj" as you so affectionately called it, it has come to my attention that you may not remember anything.** **  
****You usually talk to me about your drink when you are in the hospital, saying that it is "the holy drink of all the gods."**  
 **You can also say it was because of my womanly intuition.**

**that is one hell of a womanly intuition**

**Thank you.**

**and im fine **  
more or less****

**Alright, Dave. I'm here, however, if you need me.**

**thanks**

**Anytime.**

That was... interesting. You read Harley's next.

**dave!!! i heard from john!!! are you okay??? :(**

**are you asleep?? get some sleep and then answer me! i cant stand not knowing if youre ok or not :(**

**you werent being stupid were you??? just kidding!**

**hurry up and message back doofus :(((**

**yo and im fine just a little shaken up **  
johns on his way now****

**oh man!! could you text back any later?**

**sorry being an injured person takes up all my time**

**sorry!!!!!!!!!**

**nah its cool youre worried**

**youre ok right????? :(**

**yeah im ok**

**are you sure?**

**yeah would i lie to you**

**sometimes i think!!**

**thats beside the point im fine harley **  
ill text you when john picks me up****

**ok.....**

You feel bad for not telling her you have amnesia, and that you can't remember her. You really do. You just don't want to say anything until you meet John. You want to hear everything from one person.

With the next text messages, you are bombarded with grey text and caps. Lots of caps.

**HEY, FUCKTARD. I HEARD YOUR ASS WINDED UP IN ONE OF THOSE SANITARY PLACES, BUT WHEN IS IT NOT? POINT IS, THIS TIME, YOUR FRIEND WITH THE BUCK TEETH, JOHN, TELLS ME THAT THIS TIME IT'S SERIOUS AND THAT I HAVE TO SEND YOU MY CONDOLENCES.**

**SO, HERE ARE MY CONDOLENCES. I SINCERELY HOPE THAT YOU GET BETTER, STRIDER, AND THAT YOU DRINK A HEALTHY SERVING OF THAT DRINK THAT RESEMBLES PISS THAT YOU LIKE SO MUCH. TRY TO BE LESS OF AN IDIOT AND STAY OUT OF FUCKING TROUBLE. I DON'T WANT TO KEEP SENDING YOU CONDOLENCE MESSAGES.**

Well, isn't he just a bucket of sunshine?

**dude hye i heard u were in teh hoispital u alrite?  
 ***hospital****

You honestly didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. You were grateful for their concern, but hell, you couldn't even talk to them without feeling sort of empty. You didn't remember them and it would be fruitiless to try and strike a conversation with them. They would notice something wrong and then you'd be forced to explain. You didn't want to talk about it, not yet. 

Your phone vibrates in your hand and a message appears on it. It's from John. 

**dave, ok i'm like off the plane now. well you sound anatomically correct, but i'll be there as soon as i can!**

**ok john i trust my maiden heart to you  
hurry up im bored**

**ok! hold your horses. a guy can only move so fast with his luggage and a crappy taxi service!**

**oh no i think my life force is getting weaker  
doctor im afraid im dying from boredom**

**i'm almost there ok, like gimme twenty minutes.**

**i fail to see how thats almost there**

**i could be an hour away but i'm not.**

**fair enough  
but you could be closer**

**no i couldn't you idiot!**

**tip the driver extra maybe he'll put a blind eye to speed limits**

**i can't do that!**

**sure you can its easy just hand him the extra money and HINT towards it**

**you have no regards to the law, don't you.**

**nope**

**i'll be there soon, just go drink some aj while i'm gone!**

**its always aj isnt it**

**what???**

**nothing  
just go into your cab and dont forget to tip the driver extra**

**:B**

You place your phone on the counter, turning on your other side, facing the window. You adjusted the frames so it wouldn't be uncomfortable under your head. Outside was bright and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Birds flew across the sky, and that's all you could see, really, with the exception of the leaves brushing against the side of your window every so often. You couldn't even see the sun, as it was probably above you at the moment. It’s probably noon now, isn't it?

John will be here soon, (you hope that the airport isn't too far away from the hospital) and he'll be here to take you home.

Home.

What's home like? 

Is home lonely, like it is here? Or will it be festive and fun? Will it be cramped and crowded? Or big and roomy? Whatever it's like, you're sure that it won't feel like home to you. You're sure that it'll feel like a stranger's house, just like you feel like you're in a stranger's body. 

Every sentimental thing that you may have stored in the house will have no meaning to you now, simply for the fact that you just can't remember anything. 

You don't know how much time has passed even though there's a clock in your room when the nurse comes in and tells you that John is here. You don't really feel relieved that he's here. He's just another friend that you don't recognize. Still, he's better than nothing, and at least he can get you out of this shitty hospital. Staying here is beginning to irritate you.

You still don't know how much time has passed when John enters your room. His appearance strikes a familiarity in you, and you remember the picture. That must have been him. His eyes are bluer in person, and his worry stricken face that relaxes into relief when he sees you sitting up are more expressive in person. He walks over to you, and takes in your own appearance, probably asessing for any wounds. 

Your fringe falls in your face and you push it back with your fingers. 

"Dave, are you... okay? Nothing hurts? You still that coolkid?"

There's a long pause and he looks at you expectantly. You can't answer. You can't talk. 

"Did you run out of battery?" 

You furrow your brows, almost certain he couldn't see it behind your aviators. Battery? For your phone? You didn't, but you didn't quite see how exactly your phone fits in this situation. Oh, wait. Why didn't you think of this earlier?

You lean over to the stand next to you and grab your phone. With your fingers that slide easily across the screen, you type in a message for him. You sneak a peek at John's face and it visibly relaxes. So, this was the right thing to do. Okay. 

**im ok nothing hurts and if you must know yes i still am**

Well, at least, you assume you still are.

"That's great to hear," John says, breathing another sigh of relief.

You assume it's now or never.

**but i cant remember anything**

You show him the message and his face contorts. Is it still too late to pick never?

"So... you don't remember me?" You shake your head no. "Absolutely nothing?"

**i have no recollection of anything**

"Um, let me talk to the doctor real quick, okay? Stay here."

**no shit**

"At least your sense of humor is still here," he deadpans, but you assume he meant it in a good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was a relatively short chapter, 1,900+ words, hehe. i thought this was a good place to end it though! all the formatting though *-* and thank you for all the positive comments, the kudos, and the bookmarks! i didn't expect for this story to get this much attention. thank ya again! oh, and chapter title and the bolded stuff is amsterdam by imagine dragons c:


	3. And When These Walls Don't Feel Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's face turns slightly red, and you could feel your face heating up too. Damn, how's this for male bonding?

  ** _Just take a breathe and let it go._**

You're left by yourself for who knows how long. John had excused himself to go and ask the doctor about your condition and you assume they have a lot to talk about juding on how long he's taking. On the other hand, you aren't very good at keeping track of time since you've been here, nor are you very patient.

Well, you've been in bed for long enough, you decide. It's time to stretch out these legs of yours.

You shimmy the blanket that has been a companion to you for the past two days that you were awake (you assume you've been here for longer though, since you were probably unconscious for most of the days) off of you, and your muscles struggle to bring you upright. Once you are upright, you swing your legs off the bed.

The floor beckons you.

Well, here goes nothing, you guess.

Experimentally, you edge your big toe to the ceramic tile and almost immediately, you flinch. The tile's cold. That's to be expected, of course, and you try again once more. After all, the cold never stopped a Strider before. You think.

You let your foot touch the tile and hold it there until it gets used to the cold. One foot down, one more to go. The other foot lowers down and you are one step closer to getting out of this dump. Well, this _clean_ dump. It _is_ a hospital after all, and you were sure this hospital wouldn't even be operating if the place is filthy.

You're glad it isn't.

Using your arms, you push against the bed to lift yourself up and onto your two feet. You almost topple because the sudden weight to your knees almost make them give in, but fortunately, you manage to catch yourself in time before you made a fool of yourself.

Goddamn, this was like walking in heels.

Taking baby steps, you slowly edge yourself towards the door. By the time you reach the door, your feet are already used to the cold tiles, and you revel in the pleasure of knowing that you won't get cold feet anymore. You suddenly remember you had your sneakers to wear and that thought leads you to the thought of your things, which you have forgotten at the bedside table.

Shit.

Well, you can't really be bothered to walk all the way back, put on your sneakers (without any socks [how gross]), grab your things, put everything where it belongs on your person, take care of not banging your shitty katana on anything, and walking all the way back to the door. That seems to be quite a bit of work, and you assume you'll be back after you've retrieve John to collect your things.

So you take hold of the door knob and twist it, pushing the wooden door out, a wave of smells bombarding you. Along with the smell of anesthetic, there is the smell of bland cafeteria food coming from your left, and the smell of sanitary bathrooms from your right. People are bustling about like little ants, grabbing files, heading into patients' rooms, getting necessary items for who-knows-what, and attending to worried parents.

These things don't interest you much; you're much more interested in finding John so you can get the fuck out of here (that and you're just a tad lonely). You scan the room for a familiar tuff of jet black hair and you find him in the corner, talking with Dr. Michael. You purse your lips before walking over there, careful to not make any sounds with your feet.

"...it's possible. I can't guarantee it'd work, but it's worth a shot."

"Okay, I'll try it, then."

At this point, you wish you could talk so you could casually interrupt their conversation like a badass in those movies (that you've never seen) so you opt for tapping your feet on the tiles. John whirls around, facing you, surprise evident in his face.

"Dave! What are you doing out of your bed?" he chides. "You're not supposed to be up."

Damn, it's times like these that you forget your phone. You had assumed that it was going to be easy; attract John's attention, assume he would know what you wanted, and leave. You didn't expect a complication so early. Settling for the next best option, you shrug. 

"You didn't even bring your phone? Dave, what—" John's sentence was interrupted when the doctor placed his hand on his shoulder. John turns around and they do that thing where they silently communicate with their eyes. "Right... Sorry," he said to you, although you have a feeling he said it more for Dr. Michael than you. 

You desperately want to know what they were talking about, but without your phone, you couldn't even utter a single syllable. You suppose you'll interrogate him later when you're both alone and you have your phone at your disposal. 

You wave your hand towards the door and let it fall limply back at your side. Hopefully, John's not that dense that he wouldn't be able to understand what you wanted. 

"Dave." It's not John's voice, but it's Dr. Michael's instead. "You can't leave yet, we have to fill out the paperwork. I've already filled John on the details, so after he signs these papers, you'll be free to go. I also prescribed you some pills for any pains you might feel later, and I also took the liberty to prescribe you some vitamins because we, er, noticed you were malnourished."

You shrug again. You didn't know you were malnourished.

"You hadn't been to the hospital for weeks, which was good because that meant you weren't getting beat up too badly because of your strifes, so we hadn't seen your face around here in a while, but you were healthy. It was a shock to see you malnourished."

You don't know why these people kept talking to you and looked at you like they expected you to answer. It's not like you could. Still, you dip your head in acknowledgement, what else were you supposed to do? 

"Yes, um, anyway..." He runs his fingers through his hair, and led John carefully by his shoulders. "Now, if you'll come with me, John, I'll give you the paperwork showing that he was signed out by you."

"Yeah, um—" he turns towards you, "—Dave, are you going to be able to get your stuff without me? I'll meet you at the front desk." 

You nod your head, waving him off. 

They begin muttering to themselves again, and you couldn't be bothered to care. (Well, actually, you did care. Just a little bit though.) You begin to sashay to back to your room to tell yourself that you don't care what they're talking about, and hopefully, you think, John brought you socks. That's a very unlikely thought to have, but hey, a sockless boy can dream. You shuffle into your room and to your bedside table where you grab your clothes. You examine the stitched up holes and faded blood stains.

Shit, you really don't want to wear these wrecked clothes outside. People would probably think you're some kind of loony man or that these clothes are the clothes you wear to murder people (which you hope is really not the case).

Still, what other choice do you have? Like your socks, there is probably no chance of you getting new clothes until you go back to where ever you live. Biting your lip, you toss a worried glance towards the door for fear of someone walking in you changing your clothes (although it's understandable, seeing as who _wouldn't_ want to see your body? Like, seriously now). You slip your hands behind you to untie the hospital gown and realize your butt has been hanging out for the whole world to see (dear lord, why didn't you notice this earlier?). Why didn't John or Dr. Michael say anything when you were sashaying your way back to your room? Or maybe they were too busy laughing at you to say anything.

That's an embarrassing thought to have.

You quickly untie the three carefully knotted bows and let it drop to the ground. Cold air wraps itself around you and you shiver. You chuck your shirt on, and as you're preparing yourself to put on your pants, you realize you have no underwear to go with it.

Fuck! Did the hospital staff throw them away? Why in the world would they not keep underwear? Should you just wear it without underwear? Wouldn't that be unsanitary?

You never thought you'd be agonizing over whether or not to wear pants without underwear.

Against your better judgement, you slide your pants past your hips, the fabric running over your crotch. Well, this definitely wasn't one of the brightest ideas you've ever had.

Slipping your wallet into your back pocket, you grabbed your phone and wondered if those documents were signed yet. You send a text to John.

**hey you done yet**

You set your phone down, and decide to get everything acquainted here so you could just leave when he calls you. While you're trying to move your shitty katana around so it wouldn't accidentally cut you or bump into anything and knock shit over, your phone vibrates.

**hey! yeah, um, just about. i'll see ya at the front desk!**

**cool**

Your worn out converse was the last thing to put on, and while you were still a little weary about putting on sneakers without socks, you had already wore pants without underwear, so how bad can it get? Your feet slip into them and they easily fit into the imprints on the bottom of the sneakers. You walk over to the door and you let your finers linger over the cool metal before you twist the knob. You prop the katana on your shoulder, making sure you propped it up on the blunt side. 

You could definitely feel the gazes of passerbys on you, on your katana, on your clothes. You could hear the hushed whispers about you, and you grip the handle a little tighter. No need for the blade of death to 'accidentally' hit someone. You turn left to reach the front desk like the sign tells you to, and you can already see John waiting for you there. He looks anxious and worried, and you assume that's only natural because you  _did_ just come out of the hospital after all. His eyes shift nervously about, like he's looking for something, but they brighten up when his blue eyes land on you.

"Dave! There you are. I thought you got lost, or something. Glad you found your way here."

You pull out your phone and your fingers tap rapidly on the screen.

**not that big of a deal  
just followed the yellow brick road**

John laughs at your reference, and you note that he still has his buck teeth like in the picture of him you have in your wallet. You think that it's not a good idea to tell him you have it. 

"Alright, so, I signed the papers, and everything's ready to go! We'll go to Walgreens to pick up your drugs." He giggles at his use of the word  _drugs_ , like a little ten year old who heard someone say the word  _duty_. Dr. Michael sees you and John out the door, and reminds you, yet again, to see him if any problem arises. You doubt they will.

**hey bro can we stop by my house to get a change of clothes**

You tap John on the shoulder and show him the message.

He blinks and stares at your outfit. "Oh, um, yeah, sure! I'd give you an offer to borrow my clothes, but they might be a little big for you..." You get a better look at John, and he's right. He's taller than you by about two or three inches. "If you don't mind, I'll dig 'em out of the suitcase so we can save time." 

You hesitate. You don't care, really, but again... the underwear issue.

John sees your hesitation, and elbows you. "We're best bros dude, it's not that big of a deal bothering clothes. We're not strangers! —Oh, um, right. Amnesia. Sorry." It's not because of that, you want to tell him, but you'll let him assume that, because it's a hell lot better than explaining to your 'best bro' that you don't want to wear his underwear, or that you aren't even _wearing_ underwear. "Well, before you lost your memory, you and I, we're best bros. We've known each other since... since we were thirteen, I think. I got you those shades for your birthday. I can't believe you kept them for all these years."

Oh. You didn't know that.

"Anyway, don't worry about wearing my 'stranger danger' clothes. It's cool." 

You reach his car, and it's a sleek dark blue one. He opens up the truck, and unzips the suitcase. You lean over his shoulder to stare at his array of clothes. "Um, do you like plaid? 'Cause I have this really nice plaid shirt, and it's red, your favourite colour." He holds out said shirt. "Oh wait, duh, silly me! You wouldn't remember if you like plaid. Sorry." He pushes the shirt into your hands. "Wear it anyway." 

You sling it over your shoulder. The fabric's nice and soft under your fingers.

"Um, I have a pair of jeans that are like, uh, this deep... indigo... bluish colour?" He tosses it over his shoulder, and you catch it. "The pants might be a little long, so you could roll them up a bit. Do you have socks?" John glances over his shoulder. You shake your head no. "Okay," he said, emerging from the trunk. "A pair of new, never-before-worn, black socks!" You catch them. "Anything else?"

You shrug, your fingers skimming the hem of your pants.

**itd be cool if i could uh get some boxers or some shit like that**

John's face turns slightly red, and you could feel your face heating up too. Damn, how's this for male bonding? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a somewhat longer chapter hehe, 2200+ words. for the pairing, i'm still not exactly sure about who's going to end up with who. the only thing concrete is how bro's going to be mentioned in the story, and that john and karkat will show up and interact with dave. i aLSO GOT ACNL WOOO!!!! it's so fun hehe. my friend code's 1950-8350-5600 if you want it!! tell me if you add meh hehe. I ALSO REALLY WANT FIRE EMBLEM AWAKENING, ugh i played a demo and it's really fun bUT I'M SO BROKE I DON'T HAVE MONEY FOR IT QAQ 
> 
> again, thanks for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! i really appreciate them hehe.
> 
> this chapter's song is just keep breathing by we the kings!


End file.
